


When You Wish Upon a Star

by Yasminke



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Gen, Season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-05-19
Updated: 2002-05-19
Packaged: 2017-11-04 01:36:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yasminke/pseuds/Yasminke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When you wish upon a star, makes no difference who you are..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Found him!” Cordelia sang out. She perched herself against the balcony’s railing, directly across from where Wesley sat on the tiled floor. “Aren’t you supposed to be working on how to remove the hex from that Sh’tuyot demon?”

“Done,” he replied. “All I have to do is recite the incantation I prepared and his problem is fixed. We’ve a meeting with him at Caritas at ten.” He rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes.

“All righty, then. What’re you doing hiding up here?” 

“I’m taking a mental vacation, since we don’t seem to get a break in reality.”

“’Mental vacation’? Are you feeling all right, Wes?”

Wesley kept his eyes closed and listened while Fred joined them. “Maybe he’s coming down with something,” he heard her say.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured them. “Probably just a cold, what with this absolutely splendid Southern California weather. Reminds me of home, it’s so bloody splendid.”

“A year’s worth of rain in less than two weeks,” Cordelia agreed. “Visions and sinus problems at the same time. Yeeha! Oh, to be anywhere but here.”

“I’ll go along with that,” Wesley laughed. “You’d rather be in, let me guess … New York?”

“No, I got it! Vail or Aspen,” Fred chimed in. “Skiing. And of course, you’d have to have the required gorgeous skiing instructor. Filthy rich. Swiss.”

“French,” Wesley corrected. “With a house in Paris. Better yet, in Cannes. That way Cordelia could attend the film festival every summer.”

“Jetting back here for the Oscars,” Fred added. “And to rub our noses in it, of course.”

“Oh, please. Like I’d slum with you people if that happened.” Cordelia leaned back and looked at the night sky. “’Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight.’ So, where would you rather be, Fred?”

“Well, here is fine and dandy. I’ve been to Pylea and this is …”

“Yeah, okay. But we’re dreaming, escaping our hectic lives to **be** someplace else, **do** something else. Wesley, where would Fred rather be?”

He studied Fred fondly, causing a blush to creep up her face. “Hmmm, let’s see. Some place neither rugged, nor heavily populated. Anywhere, Cor?”

“Yep.”

“Ah, then. Lothlórien,” he answered. “Where things are magical and safe.”

“God,” Cordelia moaned. “You are coming down with something. Must be a dose of _Lord of the Rings_ hype.”

Wesley smiled and shrugged his agreement. “That bug bit me years ago. In grammar school, to be precise.”

Cordelia scrunched her nose, stuck out her tongue and ignored his snicker. “Angel’d have to be in a dimension where the sunshine doesn’t harm him,” she decided. “He so needs to work on a tan. I’d like to see him happy and as normal as you can get in his shoes.”

“What about Gunn?” Fred asked.

“Send him waaayyyy out of the city,” Cordelia suggested, her eyes alight with excitement. “On a fabulous adventure. Meeting famous people, doing cool things. We’d have to spruce him up a bit, but that could be fun. Jazz clubs, SuperBowl, World Series or whatever he wants to do, besides kill vampires.”

“Sounds good,” Wesley said. “And where would you send me?”

She looked carefully at Wesley, noting the bags under his eyes, the wan tone of his skin, the lackluster in his eyes. “You, Mr. I’m-not-coming-down-with-something?” Her voice softened. “I’d set you up as an English country gentleman in a quiet village, like you see on A&E. Where you could get rest, futz around in the garden with your wife, and play with your horde of cherubic, Anglo-Saxon children. Teaching your daughters how to ride horses and your sons how to shoot. Or whatever country gentlemen do with their kids.”

Wesley snickered. “Knowing my luck, there’d be trolls under the bridge and gingerbread houses next door. But thank you. It would be a piece of heaven.”

“Actually, it sounds like the Sunnydale country club crowd, minus the English bit. We’re never far from all this, are we?” Cordelia remarked, her voice heavy and tired. Wesley watched sadly as she pushed herself away from the railing, reluctant but ready to go back to work. “Guess that’s our morose cue to go remove the hex, huh?”

Wesley stood up. “Yes, we’d best go and meet Gunn. Angel’s staying home, I take it?” He offered his hand to help Fred up.

“Yeah, since the Sh’tuyot demon is terrified of him.” Fred nodded and took Wesley’s hand. “Thanks. He said to call if we need anything.”

Wesley bowed and swept the doorway with his hand. “After you, ladies.”

Before he left the balcony, he gazed up at the stars, then, with a soft chuckle, shook his head and closed the door behind him.

 

~~*~~

 

“Man, you look like shit warmed over,” Gunn announced when they joined him at the table.

“You look rather dapper yourself,” Wesley sneered. He did, in fact, feel nauseous, but he wanted this over and done. After all, they’d been paid in advance, and he’d raced the clock to find the incantation that would rid the somewhat benign demon of the ultimately fatal curse. His sleepless nights of research would, hopefully, give them twelve hours to spare. Then, he’d down some Vitamin C and sleep.

“Did he say ‘dapper’?” Fred asked, while they ordered their drinks. “Last time I heard someone use that was on Masterpiece Theatre.”

A flash of bronze broke Wesley’s concentration, before he could respond. In a distant corner of the bar, farthest from the noise of the karaoke, a couple, both dressed in business suits, discussed a stack of papers to which the woman repeatedly and dramatically pointed. It wasn’t bronze that shone, but the woman’s hair under the glare of a wall light. The man picked up the top pages and began to read them over. At that point, the woman let her guard down, leaned back and glanced around, noticing Wesley’s attention. She smiled shyly, then was drawn back to her own table by a question from her conversation partner.

A motley gray creature with tarnished silver strands running throughout his fur sat down at their table. Like a cornered animal, his ruby eyes flitted continuously around the room, searching out possible escape routes. “Lorne said you were able to find something,” he said timidly. “Please, tell me I didn’t venture from home for naught.”

“You’re safe,” Cordelia assured him. “No weapons are allowed in here. No violence, either.”

“Mayhap, but there are those who will seize all I can give. The hex was performed without weaponry, without violence. Nary a finger was raised. Merely a sentence whispered in the dark.”

Wesley reluctantly tore his concentration away from the corner. “Do you want something to drink when this is done, Zakier?” he asked. The demon shook his head. “Then, let me simply relieve your of your extra burdens, shall I?”

He chanted two short, clipped sentences in a language none of those present, save one, had heard spoken aloud, but which soothed the Sh’tuyout demon. Zakier closed his eyes, inhaled deeply and relaxed as the air about him shimmered and pulsated. When Wesley had finished, the grayness that had enveloped the demon melted away and was replaced with an incandescent rainbow of blue, purple and green fur, salted with silver. He opened his eyes, ruby pupils dancing with liberation. And health.

“How shall I repay you?” Zakier asked.

“Check, MasterCard, Visa or Cash,” Cordelia quickly answered.

“Lorne paid, in full, in cash,” Fred said. “I wrote the receipt myself. You were working out downstairs with Angel.”

“Oh.” Cordelia shot Gunn a vicious glance when he snickered. “And we **were** working out, buster.” He looked away, still chuckling.

“I shall grace you with my fondest blessing,” Zakier said to Wesley.

“It’s not necessary,” Wesley said with a wave of his hand. “It was a group effort for which you’ve paid already.”

“What’s this group thing, Wesley?” Gunn asked. “ **You** spent all that time looking, **you** found the books…”

“ **You** read the language,” Fred added. “ **You** speak the language, and …”

“Zakier,” Wesley said after a glower at the rest of them. “We’re honored to have been of assistance.”

“Yes, nevertheless.” Zakier’s eyes twinkled as he leaned forward to stare into Wesley’s blue eyes. With little flourish, he waved a hand in front of his face. “May you live your heart’s dream whilst next you sleep. May it revive and invigorate you for the battles ahead.”

“I think his ‘heart’s dream’ is across the room,” Gunn whispered to Cordelia, and gestured toward the corner where the woman was standing and shaking hands with the man. When he left the table, she put the papers into a black leather briefcase and angrily snapped it closed.

Pleased with the events of the night, the Sh’tuyot demon, now restored to it effulgent glory flowed across Caritas and exited the bar. Wesley, in turn, watched as the woman in the business suit said something to Lorne, passed their table with a quick, reciprocal glance, then left.

“A lawyer,” Cordelia said. ”Can we say ‘ew’ and ‘evil’?”

“I do believe,” Wesley said as he pushed his drink aside, “that I should be getting home. I’m beginning to feel much worse for the wear.”

Fred put her hand to Wesley’s forehead. “Yep. It’s the flu. You’re all clammy, now.”

“I’ll drive,” Gunn offered. “We’ll drop you off first.”

“You promise you’ll stay home in bed tomorrow,” Cordelia prompted. “Because you just know you’ll show up and infect everyone.”

“Yeah,” Gunn agreed. “Told you he looked like shit. Let’s get you home, flu boy.”

Wesley smirked. “With friends like you…”

 

~~*~~

 

Certain he’d locked the door when he had left in the morning, Wesley turned the knob and entered carefully. Everything appeared to be in order, but he could sense something, or someone, lurking, watching him.

“Okay. I know you’re here, so where are you hiding?”

He strolled anxiously through the living room, his eyes darting around, looking for shadows: straightened the cushions and the travel rug; put the controller back with the game console. He had cleared the dining table after breakfast; he walked past it and turned into the kitchen. The kitchen counters were clean and dishes stood dry in the rack.

“Right,” he yelled. “I give up! Come on out!”

The cupboard doors to his right popped open and a mass of strawberry blonde curls sprang out, giggling and squealing in delight.

“I tricked you!”

 

~~*~~

 

"There's no answer," Cordelia said after she hung up the phone. Fred chewed her nails and whimpered with concern.

Angel jogged down the stairs, snickering in disbelief. "You told him to stay home if he felt sick. So, he did. Why are you worried that he did what you told him to do? You never get worried when I do what you tell me to do."

"Yeah, but I said to stay home yesterday, not for two days. And you **never** do what I say. He **always** calls. He's Wesley that way."

"Well, except that one time when he —" Fred glanced down at the floor then toward the office. "Never mind, it was just the one time."

"Fine. If by nightfall he hasn't called or answered the phone, Gunn and I'll go over and check on him." Angel looked between the two women. "All right?"

 

~~*~~

 

He often stared at her in wonder, usually only long enough to make her blush, but tonight he couldn't help himself. His life, with the exception of something he couldn't quite pinpoint, had become a fantasy. He remembered with absolute clarity the night he first saw her: he and his friends had been out at a local bar when he spotted her sitting under a light, her hair shimmering whenever she shook her head. That had been before both Gunn and Angel had been bitten by wanderlust, and Cordelia found an express ticket to international fame. He'd lacked the courage to walk over and say something to her that night, but later …

"Is everything all right?"

"Pardon?" Wesley said, snapping out of his reverie.

"Is the tea all right, love? You've barely touched anything." She furrowed her brows. "Have you come down with something?"

"I have that doctor's kit what you got me for my birthday. I can give you pills, Daddy."

Wesley reached over to tousle her curls. "That's very kind of you, moppet. But I'm fine."

The young girl pouted and stabbed at a brussel sprout, which then sprung off the plate and bounced under the table. She batted her eyelids at Wesley.

"Oh, dear," he responded with a chuckle.

An eleven-year old Wesley-in-miniature scoffed at his sister's feigned innocence act. "Too bad Angel took his dog home when he came back, huh, Dad? She ate all the food Elizabeth spilled on the floor."

The bronze-haired woman leaned over and looked under the table. "Not just Elizabeth, Andrew." She slowly sat upright. "I see enough brussel sprouts under there to feed Angel's wolfhound for a couple of days." She then pointed her knife at Wesley. "Speaking of which, stop promising him we'll take a puppy when he breeds her."

The fork stopped halfway on its journey to Wesley's mouth. "I never!"

"A puppy! A puppy! We're getting a puppy!" Elizabeth squealed. "May I be excused, Daddy, so I can go tell Gertie?"

"Yes, you may be excused. But I never said such a thing."

"Mum says you did, Dad." Andrew threw his napkin on the table and rose. "Me, too, please?" Wesley nodded and watched the boy run out the front door after his sister.

Wesley glared at his wife while screams of "puppy!" traveled down the road on a mountain bike. "I don't recall ever uttering such a thing, Rowena Ravenscourt. 'Angel' and 'breeding' are words I try not to mention in the same paragraph, let alone the same sentence."

She stared back, a smug grin on her face. "Perhaps you didn't." She waved her hand beside her head with a flourish. "My memory seems to be clouded by an overabundance of hormones. Now, are you going to confess?"

"Confess what?" He rose and began to clear the table. That enduring uneasiness stabbed at the back of his brain again, but he couldn't figure out its source. "I've nothing to confess. **I** didn't just promise the children a bloody huge, no, a bloody ginormous Irish wolfhound that will eat us out of house and home, die at a young age because of its enormous size and —"

"Well, something's bothering — Oooh!" Wesley dropped the plates in the sink and rushed back to her side. "No," she said, standing carefully, making sure her gravid midsection cleared the table. "Don't pack the Rover just yet."

 

~~*~~

 

"Get that thing you call a car!" Cordelia yelled at Angel. "You're taking me over there."

"Cor-de-lia," Angel groaned. "I said I'd go over tonight if he didn't call."

"Well?"

"The sun's barely set." He sighed and rose from the chair. "Fine. I'm going, I'm going." He grabbed his coat and pulled it on. "He's a grown man, Cordelia. I'm sure he can—"

"You didn't see how bad he looked the other night. Fred and I are both really worried." She grabbed her own jacket then turned back to scribble a note. "Besides," she said while she wrote, "he said Gunn looked 'dapper'."

"Heh," Angel snorted and headed for the door. "He must be ill. Even I wouldn't dare call Gunn 'dapper'."

 

~~*~~

 

"That was Gunn," Rowena called from the study window. "There's been an incident at the bridge, near the punts. You're to call him on his mobile."

"Coming," Wesley answered and tossed the cricket ball. "Don't bat toward the house, Andy."

"No, sir." Andy tossed the ball and batted it toward the bottom of the yard. He whipped around. "Tell Gunn thanks for the snake skin from Ireland, Dad. It's cool, huh?"

"Terribly cool."

"Be careful if you go, Dad," he called out.

Wesley jogged the length of the back yard to the house. He took off his shoes in the mud room, then padded through the kitchen and down the hall to the study. After a smack on Rowena's backside and a dodge from the swing of her hand, he sat at the cherry wood desk and dialed the phone.

"Welcome back, Gunn. I thought you were … What? Blocking the bridge? … Which pub? … Who's with you? … All three brothers? … No," he continued while he went to retrieve a book from the bookcase, "Let me check one of my references. … I did, yes. … Cordy's in France. … This month, yes. Describe him to me…" Wesley flipped through the tome. "Aha, here. Got it. … You'll do fine without my presence this time. What you need for that type of troll is…" 

Rowena left her listening post outside the door and went to break up the sibling squabble.

 

~~*~~

 

Cordelia put her ear to the door again. "I told you. Something's wrong, Angel. I can't hear any sounds inside."

"Well," he said, wiggling the door handle. "It's locked. If he doesn't answer the door …"

"We pick the lock. You break the door down."

Angel rolled his eyes. "We get the building manager and explain that we believe he's seriously ill. I'll go — I've spoken to him before — you keep trying to wake up Wesley."

Angel came back five minutes later with the pot-bellied, gray-haired building manager, snugly wrapped in a plaid bathrobe, who muttered something about Samaritans needing to keep the same hours as decent working folk. Cordelia burst through the door while Angel thanked the gruff, old man and assured him that they would ask the paramedics to turn the sirens off before they turned the corner.

Inside the apartment, Wesley lay on the couch, curled in a fetal position, huddled under a carriage rug. His face was red and beaded with sweat; his clothing was completely drenched. Cordelia tried to awaken him, to no avail.

She glanced up at Angel as he stood beside the couch. "He's burning up. I don't think I've ever felt anyone with this high a fever."

"Our first priority has to be to get the fever down, then." Angel gently pushed her aside and flipped the blanket off Wesley. "Go fill the bathtub with cold water."

The heat radiating from Wesley's body startled Angel when he lifted him, spurring him to sprint down the hall. Cordelia watched while he lowered Wesley's body into the tub.

"It stinks," she said. Angel looked at her, frowning in confusion. "I mean, Angel, I can *smell* his skin burning."

"When a fever's this high, you usually can smell it." He started to wipe down Wesley's face. "Now, go call Gunn and Fred. Tell them to buy bags of ice and get here as soon as they can."

"Right." She pulled her cell phone out and dialed.

"And liquid aspirin from the drugstore." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her nod as she went out of the bathroom to get away from the room's echo.

"Couldn't get just a cold, could you," Angel whispered. Something about this felt unnatural, more than simply a cold, but Angel kept focussed on bringing the fever down. Magic could be dealt with later.

"Come on, Wesley. Work with me here."

 

~~*~~

 

"Oh, come on, Dad!"

"No."

"Dad," Andy pleaded. "Work with me here. It would be educational."

Wesley tried not to laugh. "No. I refuse to 'work with you here' on this, Andrew." He knelt down to adjust the controls and knock them with the wrench.

Rowena laboriously and mindfully walked through the wisteria-covered cupola, down the lawn, past the Camelias and the Clivia until, finally, she reached them. "What's the problem, boys?"

"Mum, Dad says we can't get barracudas for the gold fish pond."

Their laughter quashed, the parents exchanged glances. "It would destroy the pond's chi, Andy," Rowena explained.

"What chi, Mum?" Andrew rolled his eyes. "There are no goldfish in there, either. They'd freeze in winter."

She couldn't hold back any longer and giggles escaped. "He does that just like you, Wesley."

"Does what, dear?" Wesley stood up and crossed his arms over his chest. "Why do you think the water valve isn't working?"

 "Garden gnomes, dear." Rowena turned and winked at her son. Andy, used to his parents' unparentlike behavior, bit his lower lip and stared at his shoes.

"Garden —" Wesley rolled his eyes. "Very funny." He sighed. "I'll look over the schematics later. For now, hand me the — GAH! That's cold!"

Rowena pointed the hose away and pushed her son toward the house. "Go! This may get ugly!"

 

~~*~~

 

In the early hours of the second morning, Gunn and Angel joined Fred in the kitchen, where she handed them both cups of coffee.

"Okay, his fever's finally down, and we put him in bed," Angel told Fred. "Cordelia's trying to get more aspirin in his system. Fred, does any of this seem … weird?"

"Weird? Like magic?" she asked. Angel nodded while he drank. "Sorta, I guess. The Sh'tuyot demon blessed Wesley."

"So you've said. But does this feel like a blessing to either of you?"

"Okay, point," Gunn said. "But why would he curse him? I mean, Wes saved his life."

"He might not have cursed Wesley. Somebody else might've, though."

Cordelia came in and put the aspirin on the counter. She took the cup of coffee from Fred's outstretched hands and mumbled her thanks.

"Angel, what do we do?" she asked after she took a sip. "I can't get him to drink anything. Now his teeth are chattering, even though I put that extra quilt on."

"I say we take him to the hospital," Gunn suggested. "He still looks like shit. It's been what? Three days since he got sick?"

"I agree," Fred ventured. "From all the symptoms, I'd say he has pneumonia. And you don't wanna mess with that."

"How can we take him to hospital and tell them he's the victim of a demonic curse?" Angel retorted.

"Blessing," they all corrected.

"Whatever. I doubt this is the way it's supposed to go. While you all were packing the ice in the tub, I called Lorne. He's gone to talk to this Sh'tuyot demon, and he'll just have to undo what's been done. If he can. Once that's over we'll take him to the hospital. In the meantime, we'll keep forcing him whatever liquids he needs." He pointed Fred toward the far cupboards. "Let's see what kind of tea he has. Maybe that'll help."

 

~~*~~

 

"Wesley?"

"Hmmm?"

"Are you awake?"

He rolled over and gazed at her, tucking her hair behind her ears so he could see her features clearly. "I am now. What's wrong? Is it time?"

"No. We need to talk."

"Is this the point where you tell me you don't wish to be pregnant? It was all a mistake?" Wesley sat up and rubbed his eyes. He fumbled for his glasses and put them on. "Wait! That usually happens before you push. You're not going to push now, are you?" 

"I'm serious," Rowena said, and struggled to sit upright. "You've been distant for days, now. Maybe even weeks."

"Have I?"

"You'd tell me if you weren't happy or worried, or scared possibly, right?"

"What have I be to scared or worried about?" He rested his head on the headboard. "Is this hormone overload?"

"Wesley, please say you'd be honest enough to tell me if you were unhappy."

"What?"

"Wesley," she said softly. "When you want to go with Gunn or Angel, that's fine. I'll understand."

"None of this is making sense."

"What's not?"

"You, Ro. What you're saying, at," he leaned over to check the clock, "at three in the morning."

"Then what's bothering you? Why won't you tell me? Is it the baby? What?"

He finally noticed the tear stains on her cheeks. "I don't know what it is, but, love, it's not you. I promise. Something feels out of place. When I figure out what it is, I'll tell you."


	2. Chapter 2

Cordelia opened the door and glanced at the sleeping men. Wesley was resting somewhat more peacefully than he had been two hours ago when the fever spiked for the fourth time since they first dunked him in ice water. Angel was asleep next to the bed, his back against the nightstand. Gunn had confiscated the bedroom chair and had it propped up on two legs, leaning against the closet. How they could sleep in those positions was beyond her comprehension.

She knelt down next to the bed. "Angel, you awake?"

"I am now," he replied and opened one eye. "Any change?"

"Well, not really," she answered. "He's resting, not as feverish looking. Zakier just got here. Fred's giving him a rundown of what's gone on and making him tea. She's on a feed-everyone kick."

Angel stretched out and glanced over at Wesley. "It's just her way of handling this, Cordy. Lorne here?"

"No. He had to go home, but we're to call if we need him for anything."

"This better work," Angel said under his breath. "I'm not going to lose Wesley to a blessing-in-disguise."

Cordelia shot up and towered over him, one hand planted on her hip, the other pointing menacingly at Angel's chest. "Now, you listen up," she growled quietly. "You be nice to Zakier. He came as soon as Lorne found him and told him what happened. He didn't have to, you know."

"Hey! I'm always nice," Angel said. "I'm a very nice guy."

"You're a dead nice guy," Gunn groaned, and righted the chair. "Who doesn't need as much sleep as the living nice guy over here." He stretched and yawned. "Sh'tuyot demon here yet?"

"Yeah," Cordelia answered, her focus still on Angel. "You be extra-nice, then. He's petrified of vampires."

Angel stood up and scowled. "Absolute nonsense."

"Now you sound like Wes. And I said 'extra-nice'." Cordelia turned toward the door, then back to Angel. "Here he comes. Practice your 'extra-nice' scowl."

Fred opened the door and led Zakier in. He swished into the room: a flowing mass of opalescent fur with silver sprinkled throughout. He looked at them all — warily at Angel — then glided to the window on the far side of the room. After another frightened glance at the vampire, Zakier pulled open the curtains and raised the Venetian blinds.

Once he stood safely in the shaft of sunlight, he spoke. "I apologize. It seems my well-meaning actions have had dour repercussions." He saw Cordelia nod. He moved over to Wesley and put a hand to his face. "His skin is cold and moist to the touch. More than I feel is normal for humans. The manifestations of his illness are…?"

"High fever," Fred answered. "It spikes, then we bring it back down. Chills. His lungs are really congested, he rattles when he breathes and he has coughing fits."

"Delirium? Waking spells?"

"No to both," Gunn chipped in.

Zakier cautiously circled the bed, toward the nightstand as Cordelia jerked a steadfast Angel out of the way. The demon picked up the bottle of liquid aspirin, took a taste, then shuddered. After he replaced the bottle, he leaned over Wesley and sniffed.

"You'll be able to help him?" Angel asked, trying to keep his tone conversational and non-threatening.

"I cannot be certain. The blessing I chose to bestow is one that cannot be revoked." Zakier sighed. "In fact, it appears that is what has safeguarded him until now."

"Meaning what?" Angel snapped. Cordelia poked him in the ribs with her elbow.

"Part of the blessing is that the dream invigorates the dreamer for whatever battles lie ahead." Zakier faced Angel and pointed at Wesley. " **This** is his battle. I believe he is suffering from what you call 'walking pneumonia'."

"Fred said so, but we thought it was just the flu," Gunn mumbled.

"They often appear the same,” Zakier consoled him. "Luckily, you arrived in time, for, if untreated …"

"What?" Cordelia asked, alerted by the demon's tone and nervous flittering of his eyes.

"People die," Angel whispered.

"Indeed," Zakier answered. "That being said, and the fact that I am not a human physician by any means, it smells as if he is past the worst of the infection. However, I cannot wake him." He clucked his tongue and shook his head. "It is a most complicated situation."

"Okay," Fred interrupted. "What happens if he doesn't wake up today? If we, like, let him sleep?"

Zakier shook his head again. "The aggregation of the blessing with an malady of this magnitude creates the equivalent of an infinite computer loop. One that he cannot break himself."

"Meaning?" Angel growled, his eyes turning yellow.

"I said 'extra-nice'," Cordelia whispered. "That isn't even close to nice, Angel."

Angel turned around and leaned over so that what he said was heard only by her. "I want my friend back. Just like he was. No surprises, Cordelia. What this guy's saying is that he can't bring Wesley back. At all."

"Actually, that is not accurate," Zakier corrected. "What I **am** saying is that I require someone else to enter his dreamscape and convince him to awaken. I cannot, for it was **my** blessing that has led to this malignity. Had it been another's then I would gladly fetch him." He turned to Fred. "I left a bag in the front room. Would you be so kind as to bring it to me?"

"I'll go get him," Gunn volunteered.

"Not a wise choice," Zakier said. "Without the delirium, we cannot surmise what he's dreaming or how you fit into it." He smiled and nodded when Fred handed him the burlap sack. "No," he said as he rummaged through the contents, pulling out glass bottles and miniature bowls made of mother of pearl. "Angel will go. While I do not doubt for one second the feelings you all harbor for Wesley, it is Angel who is most passionate about reviving him. In addition, he is not in possession of a working heart, and therefore I need not worry about cardiopulmonary complications. Aha! Here it is." He held up a small green vial.

"Fine," Angel snapped. "What do I have to do?"

"Drink this in five minutes. I still have to prepare." He handed Angel the vial. He took three glass bottles, combined the contents into three of the small dishes and placed the dishes on the windowsill. Zakier then handed two cones of incense on a wooden holder to Fred. "Fred will assist me by burning this incense, because the matter which I've just mixed, and which is essential for this spell, is putrid. There is no other way to phrase it. Plus, this incense has curative properties which may help Wesley's breathing."

"So, after Angel drinks this stuff, what?" Cordelia asked. She watched as Angel tipped and turned the vial, inspecting the syrupy contents.

"I'll chant the spell as soon as he opens the vial. Angel will enter Wesley's dream, find him and hopefully convince him that he needs to come home."

Fred held the incense holder gently, but a thought startled her, causing her hand to shake and the cones to quiver. "And if he can't? Or if he doesn't want to leave? Then what?"

"Wesley will die. There and here. I'm sorry, but that is the gist of the situation. The fusion of the blessing with the illness drains **all** of a human body's energy." He turned to Angel. "You will have an hour to find him, talk to him and convince him to return."

"That's it?" Cordelia asked, her voice rising to a shriek.

"Yes. Now, Gunn, could you light the mixture in the dishes and then the incense in Fred's hands? Angel, open the vial and I shall start the incantation."

As pungent wisps of white smoke filled the room, Angel twisted the cork top off the small green bottle and swallowed. "Oh, gah!" he managed to spit out before he collapsed onto the floor. Zakier motioned to Gunn to help Cordelia make Angel comfortable on the floor, while he continued with his chant.

"Must have tasted awful," Gunn remarked. "Look at Angel's face."

"Nah," Cordelia replied after a second glance. "He always looks like that when he sleeps."

~~*~~

He stared at the fire while he poked and stirred the embers. Lost in thought, his mind barely registered Rowena when she came into the room.

"Ro?" he said, softly, still watching the flames leap back to life. He replaced the grill and put the poker in the stand. "Children asleep or reading?"

"One of each," she answered while she studied his face. "Elizabeth's knackered. A couple of elven families are staying with Fred. They have children, so, she was over there all day."

He grabbed her arm when she moved past him to clear the ice cream bowls from the table. "Leave the dishes. I'll do them later. About this morning. Nothing — no matter how exciting, how enticing — can take the place of you and the children in my heart."

"I know," she said. "But I see something in your eyes that says you feel you don't belong here."

"That's poppycock, and you know it." He took her hand and led her to the chair. "Everything I could wish for is here. It's just that … something is niggling at my brain." He sat in the chair and tried to pull her onto his lap. "Perhaps I just need a holiday?"

She planted an arm on either side of him, leaned over and stared into his eyes. "Sure. We could go to the Scilly Isles or Torquay, like everyone else. And it would piss with rain the entire time. Or, truer to form — and the invitation we got last week — we can go with Fred next school holiday. You know how both children love to visit with the elves. By then it'll only be you who has trouble fitting in the doorways." She put her hand on his knee for support as she lowered her ungainly figure onto the floor, settling down between his legs, her back against the chair.

"Ah," she moaned as he massaged her neck. "I'll give you an hour to stop that. Speaking of which, St. George stopped by earlier. He's determined to bewitch Andy with his tales of frightful dragons in Lancashire. I wish you'd convince him to stop it."

"Lucky for me, we're absolutely nowhere near your parents' home," Wesley teased. "Andy'd be badgering me to go dragon spotting. 'Oh, look, Dad — it's a Norwegian Ridgeback!' Or whatever it's called."

She smacked his leg. "Thank heavens they live closer to Northumberland or I'd be worried, and would send you, sans our eldest son, to defend them and then maybe the country."

"Sorry, sweetie," he said. "Perhaps I should ask Gunn to go with St. George? Keep him out of trouble, and we'd get a good dose of accurate information. Did you say 'eldest son'?"

"Slip of the tongue, dear. And Charles would appreciate that, I think."

"Hmmm. I'll suggest it tomorrow." His hands moved lower to massage her shoulders.

"Sir, your hand is in my blouse."

"So good of you to notice." He slid off the chair and sat on the ground behind her. Cradling her against him, he placed his hands on her swollen belly. "Any day now."

"Yes, the doctor said he or she is engaged." She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. "If you take that petting any lower, I'll go into labor tonight."

"And what did you say to me yesterday morning?"

"Um, 'I'm turning into a human elephant'? But I must remain huge, like a beached whale, until Cordelia gets back. I promised her. And Angel's planning on hopping out again for a day or two. You know, he threatened to bite you if we had another while he was out of the dimension."

"You'd rather I stopped?"

"I'm just mentioning it. Wouldn't want any surprises or newly turned vampires."

Their heads turned toward the frantic knocking at the front door.

"Whoever you are, you're dead," Wesley announced loudly, hoping the intruder could hear. "If you're not dead already, that is." He winced and blushed at her scrutiny. "You'll have to get it. I'm afraid—"

"Men!" Rowena grunted then struggled to get off the floor and answer the door.

~~*~~

"So, this is simply a blessing gone awry," Wesley summed up. "And it'll be gone when Fred and the demon recite the incantation."

"That about does it, yes," Angel answered. "Wesley —"

"It's all wishful thinking, a figment of my repressed imagination."

"The parameters were set up by Zakier. You just filled in the blanks." Angel gazed at Elizabeth, who had wandered out of her room when he had knocked on the door and was now asleep on Wesley's lap. "Admirably and lovingly as we all knew you would. You came down with the flu, which in turn reacted badly with the blessing the Sh'tuyot demon gave you, Wesley. Your body's in your apartment, and declining quickly."

Wesley shook his head. "Sorry, don't recall any Sh'tu—"

"Lorne said you probably wouldn't. Hard to do while raising a young family."

"Yes, I suppose." Wesley cleared his throat then broached the idea. "Angel, if we, I mean, if I were to—"

"You'd die. And as soon as you die there, you'd die here as well."

"But of course." He dropped a kiss on the top of his daughter's head, then rested his cheek on the strawberry blonde curls.

"They're waiting for you."

"I suppose a day or two longer would be asking too bloody much," Wesley whispered to himself. He glanced around the sitting room and exhaled forcibly, trying to get his emotions under control. "I know it's not real, but I feel I ought to put Elizabeth back into her bed." He looked at Angel. "And I should like to say good-bye."

"Of course. But we only have five minutes."

"Right," Wesley said as he stood. "Thank you."

~~*~~

"Angel's coming around," Cordelia announced. She watched while Angel's eyelids fluttered, then opened and he granted her a weak smile. "You found him?"

"Yes," he answered hoarsely. As she helped him sit up, he looked at the Sh'tuyot demon. "Seems like your blessing did, in fact, work. He had what I assume was his heart's dream."

Zakier stopped the incantation and at his nod, Fred placed the burning incense in the windowsill. "I'm very relieved," the demon said. "Now we must wait for his natural healing process to awaken him."

Cordelia walked over to Wesley's bed and put her hand on his forehead. "No fever, but his breathing still sounds bad. All mucus-y and gross."

"He does have pneumonia, Cordy," Gunn reminded her. He turned to Angel. "When you told him it wasn't real, he bought it?"

"Actually, he sensed it. Said something about knowing it wasn't quite right." Angel scrubbed his face to force himself awake, then noticed their curious expressions. "He'll tell you what it was himself. If he chooses."

"So, what do we do now?" Cordelia asked, searching everyone's faces. She moved to stand by Angel, who shrugged his shoulders and started to answer.

"Eat?" Fred suggested. She went to Wesley's bedside to check on him and grab the pitcher of water to refill it. "I could make tacos."

"Oh, my head," Wesley groaned and opened his eyes to see Fred smiling thinly. "No, my whole body."

"Hey," she said softly and sat down on the edge of the bed. "You just lay back and rest. You've been sick all week."

"Week?" Wesley looked around the room. "Why is everyone here?"

Zakier stepped forward, gingerly avoiding Angel. "You reacted adversely to the blessing. I am so very sorry. I thought you had an unnatural color for a human, but had I known you were ill, I would have —"

"No," Wesley assured him. He swallowed with difficulty, and brought his hand up to his throat. "You couldn't have known. I didn't realize myself. Oh, dear God, my throat hurts like hell. And my chest. I can barely breathe." He looked around again. "How bad was I?"

"Pretty bad," Cordelia said, and sat delicately on the edge of the bed, across from Fred. She stared into his questioning eyes. "Okay, really bad."

"Ah, I see. Ever so sorry," Wesley said. He looked between Zakier and Cordelia. "Seems I was pre-occupied 'somewhere else' but doing something only slightly 'else'." Cordelia arched an eyebrow and he smirked. "All that wishful thinking on the balcony. Which means, since it was my heart's dream, that you were all there, too."

"Oooh!" Fred squealed. "We know Angel was the Tin Man, 'cause he needs a heart, but who was I?"

~~*~~

"So, I had a faery garden with real faeries, and a holiday cabin in Lothlórien?" Fred watched while Wesley grinned and nodded. "And you were married and had kids and all?"

"Yes, two. Almost three." Wesley sighed at the sight of Fred lifting the spoon to his mouth. He looked over at Cordelia while she stood guard, her arms crossed over her chest, daring him to defy whatever order she gave him, as she'd done ever since he'd woken up five days ago. Too weak to cross her, he'd done everything she said, even handing her his house keys so she could make a copy 'for the next time'.

But spoon-feeding him chicken-n-rice soup was just too much for his newly recovered male ego.

"Notice, ladies, we are sitting in the office. Hence, I can manage to wash, dress, **and** feed myself now."

"Oops, sorry," Fred said and put the spoon back in the bowl.

Cordelia chuckled. "Hey, almost forgot. Lorne is sending some lawyer over. She's going to help us with something Wolfram and Hart related."

"Right," Wesley said, eating some of the soup to appease Fred. "And she's due when?"

"Anytime now, but she can come to you. You stay there and eat." Cordelia opened the door and allowed a small smile to show through her concern. "Glad you're feeling better, Wesley. Hope you find that country house someday."

"Thanks, Cordy," he said, then glanced at Fred.

She turned toward the door, then back to Wesley. "That sounds like company. I'll go check, while you finish your soup."

"Excellent idea." He played with his food, watching the rice and chicken squares plop back into the broth.

"Don't like tinned soup, I take it?" he heard someone ask. He looked up to see her bronze hair fall forward over her shoulder when she cocked an eyebrow and tilted her head to the side, awaiting the answer.

Wesley dropped the spoon — splattering chicken broth all over the desk — and stood up. He heard the residual wheeze while he struggled for air. He snapped his mouth shut and tried to regain any sense of propriety.

"Rowena Ravenscourt?"

Surprised, she stepped forward, her hand outstretched. "Yes. Lorne said you had taken ill, or I would have stopped by sooner. This is going to sound terribly trite, but have we met?"

"N-no," he stammered, and shook her hand. "I believe I saw you in Caritas, but in reality, we haven't been introduced." He ran around the desk and pulled out a chair for her. "Wesley Wyndham-Price."

"Home Counties, but not London," she said as he sat behind the desk.

Wesley smiled. "Yorkshire. Closer to Northumberland than Lancashire."

_The end_


End file.
